Secrets in the Stone

by Radclyffe

  “There’s nothing going on between us,” Adrian said through gritted teeth. “But if there were, I can promise you, there wouldn’t be room for anyone else.”

  “You might change your mind, especially if Rooke asked. Just think about it when you’re going to sleep tonight,” Melinda cajoled. “Imagine being between us, Rooke’s hands and my mouth—”

  Adrian slammed the phone shut, her face flushing hot. She did not want Melinda Singer to touch her. She didn’t. But her sex pulsed with want and she knew she was wet. Because of the idea of Rooke touching her. Rooke. Not Melinda.

  “Was that Pops?” Rooke’s muffled voice inquired.

  “No,” Adrian said breathlessly, pushing damp tendrils of hair away from her face. She turned, glad that the doctor was in the way and Rooke couldn’t see her. “Melinda. I told her you’d call her back.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Adrian said, noting that Rooke didn’t seem at all surprised that Melinda had called. Melinda didn’t waste any time.

  The doctor stripped off his gloves and dropped them on the instrument tray. “There. That should take care of it.” He picked up a chart and began to scribble on it. “Continue to take your regular medication. I don’t think this should cause any problems, but no alcohol and avoid operating heavy machinery for forty-eight hours. Can you have someone stay with you tonight?”

  “Um…” Rooke hesitated. “My grandfather lives right next door.”

  “I mean with you—otherwise I should keep you here.”

  “You can stay with me, Rooke,” Adrian said quickly, picking up on Rooke’s discomfort. She knew she wouldn’t want to spend the night with her grandfather in her bedroom. “Or I’ll stay with you, if you’d rather go home.”

  “Great, thanks,” Rooke said, although she looked unhappy.

  “I’ll leave instructions for you at the desk,” the doctor said. “Be sure to check the list of warnings—call the emergency room if there’s any problem. You can get the Steri-strips wet, so it’s fine to shower.” He shook Rooke’s hand and hurried out.

  “I’ll be fine, Adrian.” Rooke got to her feet and grabbed her jacket off the chair. “I don’t need you to stay with me, but thanks for volunteering.”

  “I’m not in the habit of saying I’ll do something and then not doing it. Especially under these circumstances.” Adrian knew she sounded harsh, but she couldn’t get the sound of Melinda’s voice out of her head. Melinda had sounded far too certain of Rooke and what Rooke wanted.

  “I don’t have room,” Rooke said grouchily.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.” Adrian glared at Rooke. “You do have one of those, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The trip back to Stillwater in the front seat of Rooke’s truck was cramped and silent. Adrian rode squeezed between Dominic and Rooke. The entire side of her body, pressed tightly to Rooke’s, tingled. Rooke’s hand, covered with a faint latticework of scars resembling some ancient tribal tattoo, rested on her own thigh, only inches from Adrian’s, and Adrian had to summon every bit of her willpower not to grab it and pull it into her lap. The adrenaline spike of fear had abated, only to be replaced by an unrelenting compulsion to touch Rooke, to connect to her, to be assured she had not lost her. Irrational, but so nearly uncontrollable she felt sick from holding in the tangled miasma of anxiety and longing.

  “You sure about this?” Rooke asked quietly. “Dominic could take you home.”

  “I’m sure,” Adrian said just as quietly. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, but God, she needed some distance before she said or did something she would regret. She could barely comprehend that they’d just left the hospital and now all she could think about was being naked with Rooke on top of her, inside her. She didn’t understand, couldn’t accept, this kind of need. Wanting anything, anyone, this much scared her to death.

  “Thanks,” Rooke murmured.

  Dominic turned into the cemetery and parked Rooke’s truck in front of the garage. A black Ford F150 was parked farther up the drive. Dominic’s truck, Adrian presumed.

  “So I’ll get going,” Dominic said, opening the driver’s door and jumping down. “Really sorry, Rooke.”

  “Hey.” Rooke braced her arm on the seat and leaned across Adrian to speak to him. “Thanks for the ride, and stop worrying about what happened. It was an accident. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, right.” Dominic, looking unhappy, sketched a wave in the air and strode quickly to his truck.

  “He’ll be okay in a few days,” Adrian said tightly, scarcely daring to breathe with Rooke half lying on top of her. Her body was so sensitive, her nerve endings so raw, she feared her skin was going to peel off and leave her screaming for relief. She had all she could do to keep from twisting her hips and pressing her center against Rooke’s lean, hard thigh. She’d never wanted to come so badly in her life.

  “Yeah,” Rooke muttered, settling back in her seat and jamming her hands between her knees. “I hate all the fuss.”

  Adrian laughed weakly. “I know. But he cares about you.” She dared a quick caress over the top of Rooke’s blue jean–clad thigh. “We all do.”

  “I guess I’d feel the same way if it was him.” Rooke took in the pallor beneath Adrian’s fading desert tan and the wide, black pupils that nearly eclipsed her ocean blue irises. She looked—not frightened, but almost hurt. Rooke’s blood surged with the fierce need to protect her. Instinctively, she cupped Adrian’s face, rubbing her thumb along the edge of Adrian’s jaw. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Rooke, I…” Adrian’s vision tunneled and the silver glow of moonlight enveloped her, soft fur beneath her naked skin, the heat of Rooke’s hard, hot body shielding her from the icy winter air. She arched beneath Rooke’s hands, her breath catching in her throat. Oh, how she needed her inside, driving out the cold.

  “Adrian,” Rooke whispered, slipping into the dark depths of Adrian’s eyes. “You can tell me.”

  “I can’t…” Adrian nearly sobbed. She couldn’t confess that all her barriers had fallen and she couldn’t tell fantasy from reality, that she didn’t recognize her body, she didn’t recognize herself. She couldn’t tell her she was afraid of losing herself in the vast wasteland of her desire.

  Rooke drew her hand back. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

  No, it isn’t, Adrian wanted to scream, but she was too busy forcing herself to breathe. Breathe and think and take control of her furious urges.

  “I’m sorry,” Adrian gasped.

  Rooke frowned. “Why? You haven’t—”

  A sharp rap sounded on the window and Pops peered in. Adrian jerked away.

  “We should get out,” Adrian said. “He must be worried.”

  With a sigh, Rooke slid out and Adrian followed. She stood on the far side of Rooke, not wanting Pops to see her face. She wasn’t sure what showed there, but her legs shook so hard she sagged against the truck for support. She ached so badly she wanted to wrap her arms around her middle and double over. God, God. What was this? What was happening to her?

  “Well? What’s the damage?” Pops said.

  “Just a little cut,” Rooke said. “The doctor said it blended right into the old scar so in a little while you won’t even know there was a new cut.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pops leaned around Rooke to glance at Adrian, his expression questioning.

  Adrian worked up a smile. “Just a couple of days of taking it easy, and she should be fine. Hard head.”

  Pops laughed and Rooke grinned, but Adrian noticed that Rooke was ashen and her eyes were shadowed. She’d been too busy caught up in her own maelstrom to remember that Rooke was hurt, and she flushed guiltily.

  “You should probably lie down,” Adrian said quietly.

  “You want me to bring you over something to eat later?” Pops asked. “It’s about dinnertime.”

  “No. We can order pizza or something…” Rooke raised questioning eyeb
rows at Adrian.

  “Pizza will be great.”

  “Okay then. I’ll order a delivery for later.” Pops met Adrian’s eyes again. “You two need anything else, you call me.”

  “We will,” Adrian said.

  Adrian followed Rooke to the side door of the garage and up the stairs that led to Rooke’s apartment. She didn’t know what she expected, but like Rooke, the space was neat and orderly, if a little spartan. A comfortable couch and chair on a big braided area rug occupied the center of the main room, with a tidy kitchen off to one side. A door led to what must be the bedroom. She took off her sweatshirt and hung it on a coat tree just inside the door and held out a hand for Rooke’s jacket. “I’ll take that. Why don’t you go lie down.”

  “I’m not tired.” Rooke glanced around uncomfortably, wondering what Adrian saw when she took in her space. There were no books, no magazines, no computer. Her life was barren of the things that filled Adrian’s world. “I’ve never had anyone up here before. You’re going to be bored just sitting around. I can get Pops’s laptop for you, so you can work if you’re going to stay for a while.”

  “I’m going to stay all night and I don’t need a computer.” Adrian hid her pleasure at hearing she was the first woman in Rooke’s private space. Melinda had seen some of Rooke’s sculptures, but she had not been here. Adrian didn’t care that her almost giddy delight might be a little petty. Melinda wanted Rooke, she made no secret of that. Melinda seemed to want them both, singly or together, and when Adrian wasn’t being ambushed by her involuntary response to Melinda’s uncanny seductiveness, she was incensed by the thought of Melinda anywhere near Rooke. Right now, she didn’t want to think of Melinda or imagine if Rooke responded to Melinda the way she herself did. She was here for Rooke. She braced her hands on her hips and frowned. “Now are you going to go to bed or are we going to argue about it?”

  “We’re going to argue.”

  Adrian sighed and chewed the inside of her lip, searching for a compromise that wouldn’t rob Rooke of her need to be independent. She understood that need, at least the need to be seen as a complete and capable person. “How about you lie down on the couch and we’ll talk about my project. If you get tired, you have to promise to close your eyes.”

  Rooke regarded the couch speculatively. It was an old-fashioned, plaid fabric couch with rounded arms that would fit three small people, maybe, if they were squished together. She barely fit on it when she slept there.

  “Not much room.”

  “Come here.” Adrian settled into one corner of the couch and patted her lap. “Put your head here.”

  “Just a minute.” Rooke pulled a pad of paper and pencil from among the order forms and drawings on the coffee table and handed the items to Adrian. Then she gingerly settled down and put her head in Adrian’s lap. She propped her feet up on the opposite arm of the sofa. “In case you want to take notes.”

  “Thank you.” Adrian shifted so Rooke’s cheek rested against her lower abdomen. “Comfortable?”

  Rooke looked up at her, her eyes wide and dark. “Yes. I’m not too heavy or anything?”

  No, baby, you’re perfect. Adrian shook her head and contented herself with gently stroking Rooke’s hair. “Not at all. How is your head?”

  “A little achy. Not bad.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not right now.” Rooke didn’t want to admit she was feeling a little queasy, because she figured it would pass and she didn’t want Adrian to worry. She could see the worry lines between her eyebrows and she hated knowing she was the cause. She hated hospitals and doctors and the way Pops always tried to pretend he wasn’t upset when the doctors would talk to him about the tests they’d done on her. Even when she was five she could tell whatever was wrong with her was something they couldn’t fix. She didn’t want Adrian to worry or feel like she had to take care of her. But all the same, she liked the way Adrian’s fingers felt sifting through her hair. She liked the way Adrian’s stomach fluttered against her cheek as she breathed, and the distant reverberation of her heart. She wrapped her arm around Adrian’s waist and turned her face a little more into Adrian’s middle to absorb her scent, a subtle blend of loam and sweet nectar and spring breezes.

  “You smell so good,” Rooke mumbled.

  Adrian’s hand shook as she continued to caress Rooke’s neck and shoulders. She’d never met anyone so open and untarnished, so beautiful in every way. Adrian’s heart beat so fast, her stomach spasmed with such need, she was sure Rooke must be able to tell what was happening to her. And she didn’t want her to know, not now. This was all wrong. Rooke was so vulnerable. And so trusting. Desperately, Adrian searched for something to distract her from the exquisite torment of Rooke’s breath wafting through her blouse and setting her skin on fire. Her research. She’d talk about her research.

  “I’m fascinated by the gargoyles you’ve done,” Adrian said, setting the pad of paper on the arm of the couch and flipping through pages with one hand to find a clean one. “I’ve read a lot—oh my God.”

  “What?” Rooke said, jerking back from the haze of pleasure she’d drifted into.

  “Did you do all the drawings in here?” Adrian placed her hand in the center of Rooke’s chest to keep her lying down when she realized she was about to sit up.

  “Yes,” Rooke said, perplexed by the ominous note in Adrian’s voice. “That’s how I make sure I get the carvings right. I have to have Pops check the spelling.”

  “No. No—this isn’t a gravestone you would be carving.” Adrian waved the pad vigorously above Rooke’s head so she could see it, her recent desire turning to acid fear in the back of her throat.

  “Oh, that one. I dreamed it.”

  “You dreamed it. What do you mean you dreamed it?”

  Rooke flushed, embarrassed. “It was just something I saw in a dream last week and when I woke up, I drew it.”

  “Do you always have such vivid dreams?”

  “On and off. More lately, it seems.”

  “What else was in the dream?” Adrian probed. Ordinarily, she didn’t think much about dreams. She had them. Sometimes she awoke feeling as if the dreams had been memories, and sometimes things would happen in real life that she would swear she had dreamed. Lately, her dreams had been different than anything she’d ever experienced, but then everything about her body and mind was different.

  “It was just a dream,” Rooke said evasively. “Why does it matter?”

  “I don’t know that it does. It’s just that—Rooke, the name on this gravestone is yours.” Adrian didn’t add that that scared the hell out of her.

  Rooke frowned. “Mine.”

  “Yes,” Adrian said gently. “You don’t recognize it?”

  “No. I can’t…” She sighed in exasperation. It was so hard to explain. “I can copy something that’s right in front of me. I can write my name if I have a copy of it to look at. But I won’t recognize it later and I can’t remember how to do it. The way they explained it is there’s some connection missing between what I see and my brain deciphering it. I can see it, but it doesn’t form a word in my mind—even if I know what it’s supposed to say.”

  “It’s kind of like short-term memory loss, only visual,” Adrian murmured. “You can see this right now and know it’s your name, but the next time you see it, you won’t recognize it. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That must be so frustrating.” Adrian stroked her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not so bad because I’ve always been that way. I think it would be worse if it was something I used to be able to do and now I can’t.”

  Adrian nodded. “Tell me about the dream.”

  Rooke averted her face, looking out into the rapidly darkening room. The sun had set. “I dreamed I was lying on a grave and there were people—women—there. They were…touching me. It was cold. So cold. And I…” She suddenly found it hard to swallow.

  “It’s okay.” Adrian wrapped he
r arms around Rooke’s shoulders, leaning over her, holding her in the curve of her body. “Baby, it’s okay.”

  “I asked for help but there wasn’t any. And then I woke up.” Rooke turned back quickly and Adrian’s face was very close to hers. She could still feel the ice splintering her bones and Adrian looked so upset. Without thinking, Rooke raised up on her elbow and kissed her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Adrian registered the electric glide of Rooke’s hand over her neck a heartbeat before the satin weight of Rooke’s mouth descended, catapulting her body into overdrive. Rooke’s lips skimmed hers, gentle but firmly inquisitive, and Adrian hungered to open for her, to pull her inside her mouth just as frantically as she longed to have her inside her body. Her skin flushed hot, her limbs quivered like cables snapping in a hurricane, and her insides churned with molten fire. Holding on to her control by a thread, Adrian gripped Rooke’s shoulders, digging her fingers into steel bands of muscle as much to anchor herself as to satisfy the craving to touch her. Never had she felt so much from a kiss, never had every atom of her being been so stirred by such a simple caress, and oh God, how she wanted to let go. How she burned to melt into her and let the mindless blaze of passion take her. But she held on, held back the tide of release, though she ached for it with every cell. She wanted, needed, this moment with Rooke to be more than a means to satisfy her body. She lashed herself to the here and now, focusing every bit of her awareness on Rooke’s diamond-rough fingertips stroking her throat, on the soft whisper of Rooke’s breath against her cheek, on her scent of fresh cut wood and the sharp tang of earth and stone.

  Rooke reached behind her and grasped the back of the couch, pulling herself up and pressing Adrian back into the cushions at the same time. The weight of Rooke’s body against her tense, hypersensitive breasts made Adrian moan, and she felt herself unraveling at her core. Flames licked along her inner thighs and she shuddered, straining against the flare of pleasure scorching through her center. She whimpered, on the brink of succumbing to her body’s demand to orgasm.